


A Little Less Lonely

by alpha_exodus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safehouses, Sharing a Bed, War AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21695197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpha_exodus/pseuds/alpha_exodus
Summary: All Harry wanted for Christmas was to see his friends - but the company he ends up with isn't who he expected.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 20
Kudos: 320
Collections: Harry/Draco Owlpost 2019





	A Little Less Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Kitty - thank you so much for organizing this fest! I hope your holiday season is great, and enjoy this little bit of bed sharing <3 Thank you to S for the quick beta!

“But it’s Christmas!” Harry exclaims, and he knows he’s whinging but he can’t _stand_ what Lupin’s trying to do to him, not now, not when he’s been hiding away and going mad in this bloody safehouse for nearly a year while the war moves on without him. He’d do anything to get out of this place, and he hoped against hope that when Lupin mentioned visiting today, it might mean a treasured taste of freedom or even just seeing his friends again—

But instead Lupin came to his door with orders to stay put, leaving Harry only further disappointed. Even worse, Lupin came with an _oh-so-lovely_ gift in the form of dropping Draco Malfoy on his doorstep.

“For the time being,” Lupin said. Sure. That’s what they said when they locked Harry in the safehouse too.

So now Malfoy is standing to the side of the entryway, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but in the same tiny fucking cabin Harry’s been bound to, and Harry’s stuck pleading with Lupin to change his mind. But Lupin isn’t budging.

“Christmas is all the more reason to extend welcome to those in need, and Draco needs protection just as much as you do,” Lupin says in a voice that strongly reminds Harry of Lupin’s days as a Professor. “Now be good, Harry,” he adds, as if Harry’s but a child, left behind at the Dursley’s again for another summer—and at least the cozy safehouse is a bit of a step up from _that_. But just barely. “I’ve got to get back to Dora and the baby.”

Harry nods sullenly, wishing Lupin a begrudging ‘Happy Christmas’ as Lupin leaves with a swish of robes. The door shuts behind him a bit too hard, resulting in a loud booming noise that aggravates the headache Harry can already feel starting to form.

Rubbing his fingers against the pulsing in his head, Harry lets out a long sigh. Fine. Malfoy’s here, and obviously Harry can’t do anything about it. All he can do is attempt to make this the least painful it can be for the both of them, and interrogate Malfoy for clues on what’s going on with the war while he’s at it—his updates from the Order are far less than satisfactory.

“Malfoy,” he says, and it comes out a bit more harshly than he meant it to, but whatever. Malfoy can handle it. “I s’pose I’ll show you around—”

“Leave me alone, Potter,” Malfoy spits, barely avoiding from shoving into Harry as he moves past him toward the back hallway.

“Wait, Malfoy! You don’t even know—”

“I can figure it out for myself. I’m not stupid.”

Harry lets out an exasperated sigh, grudgingly following Malfoy down the hallway. Oddly, he kind of wants to laugh despite his horror at the situation, if only because he knows what Malfoy’s about to find—

“What the _fuck?_ ” Malfoy growls.

There’s only one bedroom. And it’s Harry’s.

He’s sure as hell not _sharing_.

“What? Not so sure of everything now, are you?” Harry goads, because he’s cross and because he wishes Malfoy would just fuck off.

“Piss _off_ , Potter,” Malfoy mutters, turning back to the living room.

That’s fine. He can take the sofa, Harry thinks just a bit smugly.

xXx

“Malfoy! Did you use the rest of my bloody shampoo?!”

Harry storms into the small living room later that night, not even caring that the only thing he’s wearing is a haphazardly wrapped towel. All he’d wanted was to take a nice, relaxing shower, maybe with a lazy wank involved, and then Malfoy had to go and use _his_ soap in _his_ shower, the bigoted arse—

“What’s it to you, Potter?” Malfoy drawls, not bothering to turn from where he’s lying on his stomach on the sofa, reading some book that Harry vaguely remembers seeing on one of the shelves around here.

“What’s it—argh, isn’t it obvious? I’m out of shampoo now, and I’m not due another visit from Lupin in a week!”

“Transfigure some soap or something. Or use hair-cleaning charms. It’s not difficult, Potter.”

Harry resists the urge to growl in annoyance as a cold drop of water drips from his hair down his back. He’d neglected to towel off appropriately before heading off on his crusade for justice from Malfoy. “That’s not the point!” he says, skirting around the fact that his Transfiguration is bollocks and he can’t actually remember ever learning a hair-cleaning charm. “The point is that it was _mine_ and you _used_ it!”

“Well, sorry.”

Harry’s jaw just barely refrains from dropping open. “What?”

“I said sorry. Don’t make me repeat it again.” Malfoy turns a page, but the way his head is tilted makes it clear he’s not actually looking at the book.

Malfoy just… _apologized_. And it was actually sincere.

If Harry didn’t know better, he’d almost want to start checking if someone is Polyjuiced as Malfoy instead.

“W-well,” Harry stutters, knocked off-guard. “Fine. Just don’t do it again!”

“Sure, Potter,” Malfoy mutters.

That was sure anti-climactic, Harry concludes as he turns to leave the room, but then he hears Malfoy shifting behind him.

“They didn’t give me time to gather any of my things when I came here,” Malfoy says. “Just a few changes of clothes.”

“Really?” Harry asks, turning to see Malfoy suddenly go wide-eyed. “What?”

“Your, ah, towel,” Malfoy says, and then he just as quickly whips his head back around to his book—though not before Harry gets a glimpse of the bright pink flush staining his cheeks.

“What… oh,” Harry says. Fuck. And now he’s the one flushing, hurriedly rescuing his towel from where it’d started slipping down as he turns and flees back to the bathroom. Then he breathes a sigh of relief as he steps back into the warm shower, thankful that Malfoy didn’t end up seeing anything of consequence.

Especially since he’s maybe possibly just a little bit hard.

It’s been his dirty little secret for years that sometimes arguing with Malfoy turns him on. And it doesn’t _mean_ anything, it must just be because of the adrenaline after all… except he’s never gotten an erection from fighting with anyone but Malfoy.

It means nothing. Absolutely nothing.

xXx

It’s late that night when Harry hears a knock on his door. God. Bloody Malfoy _again?_

“What?” he snaps upon jerking the door open. Then he sees that Malfoy’s shivering and starts to feel bad—but just a little bit.

“Do you have another blanket?” Malfoy asks, sounding tired. “I don’t know what it is about that stupid sofa, but my warming charms aren’t taking.”

“I don’t,” Harry says, and oddly enough he kind of wishes he had one to share.

“Load of help you are,” Malfoy mutters, looking away—and then before Harry can retort, he says, “Ugh, sorry. I’m just c-cold. Nothing good to Transfigure around here e-either.”

Merlin, Malfoy’s shivering so hard Harry can hear his teeth chatter. He turns and looks briefly around his room, but he doesn’t have anything particularly suitable; the cabin that serves as their safehouse is about as bare as can be while still being called livable. “Sorry,” he says, shrugging.

“Whatever. No help for it,” Malfoy says, turning away.

For a moment, just a moment, Harry thinks of Malfoy being just as alone on Christmas as Harry is now—he thinks of Christmases back in his cupboard, which got cold and drafty in the wintertime, and how sometimes all he really wanted was a hug—

“You, er. You could come stay with me?”

Harry snaps his mouth shut. He didn’t just say that. Did he?

Well. Apparently he did, because Malfoy is staring at him in confused horror. “I beg your pardon, Potter?”

Harry forces himself to laugh. “Never mind. It was stupid.”

“Oh,” Malfoy says, and he actually looks a little bit disappointed—ah, fuck, Harry’s really barged into this one, hasn’t he?

He lets out a harsh sigh and steps back from the doorframe. “Look,” he says, “Just come in.”

Malfoy looks even more surprised at that.

But he comes in anyway.

It’s incredibly awkward as they climb in under the covers; the bed isn’t tiny but it’s not large either, and Harry can feel the chill coming off Malfoy’s skin even inches away.

“Merlin, you are cold,” he mutters, even though he’d sworn he wouldn’t talk.

“Wouldn’t have come if I could bear it,” Malfoy says back. “Still freezing.”

“Oh,” Harry says, and then he thinks about hearing somewhere that body heat is the fastest way to warm someone up—no. No, absolutely not. He’s not doing that. “Could take a hot shower?” he suggests instead.

“Mmph. Too tired,” Malfoy mutters. “’S fine, Potter, go to sleep.”

“Fine,” Harry says.

Then he closes his eyes and tries to sleep.

Except he can’t.

He’s too overly aware of the fact that Malfoy’s body is so close to his. It doesn’t help that they’re facing one another, and—and maybe it’s because of his stupid overreaction after their argument earlier, but he can’t help but find himself wanting to touch Malfoy. And not in a platonic way either.

Fuck.

“Potter, I can practically hear you thinking,” Malfoy says, jolting Harry out of his thoughts. “Go to _sleep_.”

“Well, why aren’t _you_ sleeping?” Harry asks with a scowl. What a hypocrite.

“I’m _cold_ ,” Malfoy answers, and ugh, he’s so _stubborn_ —

This is ridiculous.

“Come here,” Harry says sharply, and then he slides closer and slips an arm around Malfoy, pulling him closer. Who, he discovers, is actually still quite freezing.

To his surprise, Malfoy doesn’t protest, though he does tense. “Potter...”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Harry mumbles, and he’s glad the room is dark because he can feel his own face flaming.

“Fine,” Malfoy says, and then he curls closer, into Harry’s touch, and ah—

This is... nice.

Harry’s never slept in the same bed with anyone before, even platonically, and he underestimated just how nice it would be to have someone’s body pressed against his own. Despite feeling cold to the touch, Malfoy feels so _alive_.

Harry can hear his heart beating.

Merlin.

“You’re still thinking too much,” Malfoy says after a moment, but his voice is shockingly close now that he’s sharing Harry’s pillow.

“How can you even tell?” Harry asks, a bit affronted but honestly just curious at this point.

“Your breathing. It sounds restless.”

Harry doesn’t really have a response to that, partially because he _is_ restless. His brain has slowly caught up to the fact that Merlin, Malfoy’s in his _bed_ , and even worse—

Okay, yeah. Harry’s definitely attracted to him.

It doesn’t help that Malfoy’s slowly warming up, becoming even more alluring to touch, even though soon enough Harry will have no excuse to be doing this. Which is... unfortunate.

His face is so close. Harry can see the outline of his jaw even in the dark.

Fuck.

“Potter,” Malfoy says again.

“What?” Harry asks, but it comes out more breathless than he wanted it to.

“What are you thinking about?” Malfoy asks, and Harry nearly shivers—there’s something new in Malfoy’s voice, something he’s not sure how to interpret. Curiosity, maybe? Or—interest?

“Nothing important,” Harry says, because he’s absolutely not going to _tell_ him that he’s maybe starting to get hard right now. He resists the urge to adjust himself in his pajama pants, grateful their hips aren’t closer together.

“If it’s not important...” Malfoy says, and then he leans his head just a bit closer, and fuck, Harry would _swear_ he’s doing this on purpose—“Then stop thinking about it.”

He’s so close Harry can feel his breath when he speaks.

Fuck. _Fuck_.

“I can’t,” he admits quietly, because Malfoy’s body is firm against his arm, his back slowly warming where Harry’s hand touches him. He wants to touch him more. He wants...

“Potter, if I didn’t know better...” Malfoy trails off, then stops.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me.”

Malfoy swallows audibly. “If I didn’t know better—I might think you were... thinking untoward things.”

“What does that even mean?” Harry asks, even though he _knows_ what it means. He just. Wants Malfoy to say it.

“It means—I—fuck, Potter, do I really have to explain this?”

Somewhere during the past several minutes, Harry’s cock has decided that it quite likes the way Malfoy says his surname, and now he’s fully hard, his body feeling overly warm. But he can’t move—nor does he _want_ to, because that might mean moving away from Malfoy. “Tell me,” he says, and then, for the hell of it—“Please.”

Harry doesn’t imagine it then—Malfoy’s breath stutters. “It... fuck. It sounds like...”

“What?”

Malfoy lets out an exasperated sigh. “It sounds like you want me, okay?”

Harry shivers, because God, he doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life. “If that were true,” he says, unable to keep the slight rasp out of his voice—“Would you really think it was ‘untoward’?”

“Maybe,” Malfoy says, and Harry’s not sure if he’s imagining it but his face seems closer.

It’s not a no.

“Maybe,” Harry repeats, and Malfoy nods.

One moment, they’re lying there, Harry’s arm slung around Malfoy, staring each other down across the pillow.

The next moment they’re kissing.

Harry’s not sure how it happened exactly. All he knows is that Malfoy’s mouth is on his, warm and soft, and Harry _likes_ it—so fucking much it knocks the breath out of him.

“Oh,” Malfoy sighs, sliding his arm around Harry’s waist to pull him closer.

“Is this—untoward?” Harry murmurs between kisses, gasping then as Malfoy briefly swipes his tongue into Harry’s mouth.

“Yes,” Malfoy says. “How uncouth of you.” But he slides his hand down further and palms Harry’s arse anyway, and Harry lets out a groan that very much lets on how hot he thinks that is.

“Shouldn’t we stop then?” Harry asks, going to nip at Malfoy’s lip again nonetheless.

“Mm,” Malfoy hums, thinking. “No. I think not.”

God. “Okay,” Harry says, and then, fuck it—he shifts even closer on the bed so he can press their hips together.

Malfoy’s hard too. _Fuck_.

Then somehow they’re rutting against each other, thoroughly snogging, the sound of their panting filling the room. “Can you... you know—like this?” Harry asks, gasping.

“Ngh—not sure, I, oh fuck, _Potter_ ,” Malfoy responds, and Harry feels a brief sense of pride that _he’s_ the one that’s making Malfoy so absolutely disheveled.

“Have you ever—?” Harry asks, gasping as Malfoy slips a hand under his t-shirt.

“Shut up already,” Malfoy mumbles, and then he kisses and kisses him until he has no choice but to stop talking.

It’s his first time, Harry thinks vaguely—he and Ginny had never gone further than heated snogging. He wonders briefly if this is a good idea.

But then Malfoy tilts his head down and starts mouthing at Harry’s neck, and oh, _fuck_ —this _has_ to be a good idea because it feels too good not to be.

“’S a bit warm,” Harry says breathily, feeling hot under his pajamas. “Are you warm?”

“Not yet,” Malfoy says, but thankfully he seems to take the hint anyway and slips his hand down to pull at the drawstring of Harry’s pajama bottoms. Harry’s heart races. “Could take these off?”

“Yes,” Harry says, and then he helps Malfoy shove them off and away, his pants going with them. Then he takes Malfoy’s off too, leaving them bare from the waist down under the covers, and fuck, it’s nerve-wracking—

But he likes it, Merlin, he likes it.

“You know the lube charm?” Malfoy asks, and Harry shakes his head so Malfoy casts it. It hasn’t fully processed in Harry’s mind what Malfoy is about to do until Malfoy reaches down and begins to slick Harry’s cock.

“Ah—f-fuck,” Harry gasps, bucking toward Malfoy. Then Malfoy pulls away, and he lets out a groan of disappointment.

“Hold on,” Malfoy says, and then slicks himself up too, and for a moment Harry doesn’t understand until Malfoy climbs on top of him and begins to rut against him again, cocks slick against each other. “Makes the friction b-better.”

“You _have_ done this before,” Harry realizes, and for some reason he’s just a little bit disappointed.

“Oh, calm down, Potter,” Malfoy says, his breath ragged. “Don’t worry. I still h-hate you the most.”

“Okay,” Harry says, and that absolutely shouldn’t feel reassuring but in an odd way, it does.

Maybe because right now, in this moment, he wants to be the center of Malfoy’s universe. Even if it’s not in a good way.

“Feels good,” Harry mumbles, letting his eyes drift shut, drifting his hands down to tug at Malfoy’s hips.

“Potter,” Malfoy says, and his voice is softer, shakier now. “Look at me.”

Fuck. Harry snaps his eyes open to meet Malfoy’s, grey and stormy above him in the dim moonlight leaking from the window. His breath catches. “Hullo,” he says, struck all at once how supremely odd this is, to be doing _this_ with one’s enemy.

It’s no matter. It feels too good to stop.

“Do you want t-to...” Malfoy fumbles his words, “I mean, would you want...?”

“What?” Harry asks, as Malfoy’s body slowly stills.

Malfoy swallows audibly. “If you want,” he says, looking away—“If you wanted to, you could fuck me.”

Harry’s breath hitches. “I’ve never,” he admits. “I dunno if I would be, er. Any good at it.”

“It’s not hard,” Malfoy tells him.

It’s tempting. It’s really tempting. “But... why?” Harry asks eventually. Why would Malfoy ever let him?

Malfoy sighs. “I suppose I’m lonely, okay, Potter?”

That at least, Harry understands.

He gets it now, he thinks. Malfoy just wants to feel connected to another human being—just what Harry’s wanted for months and months.

“Okay,” Harry finally agrees.

They end up with Harry still on his back, Malfoy hovering over him on his knees, having cast some sort of spell that made Malfoy’s face all pinched for a moment.

“What...?”

“Preparation,” Malfoy explains simply. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Should I...?” Harry reaches for Malfoy’s hips, but Malfoy just bats his hands away.

“No. Here,” Malfoy says, and then moments later he’s spreading his legs wider and leaning himself back and positioning himself over Harry’s cock—

_Oh_.

Malfoy sinks down on him in one fluid motion, and Harry cries out because fuck, _fuck_ —

He never imagined how good this would feel.

“You... you okay?” he pants out, trying his best to keep his hips still as he sees Malfoy’s brow wrinkle.

“Just a moment,” Malfoy says, and then after several seconds he lets out a long sigh. “Okay,” he says, and starts to slowly ride him.

Harry’s vision goes blurry.

It doesn’t take very long.

“I’m—I’m,” he tries to choke out, and then Malfoy reaches out and, bizarrely, takes his hand—and Harry’s coming, bucking his hips, making Malfoy hiss as he spills inside of him. He’s vaguely aware that Malfoy’s taken himself in hand, riding through Harry’s orgasm until Harry’s gone too soft and slips out—but it’s okay because a moment later Malfoy comes too, all over Harry’s t-shirt that he never bothered to take off.

Malfoy sits there for one, two, three breaths before saying, “Okay,” and reaching over to grab his wand, casting a cleaning charm over both of them. “Okay,” he says again, rolling off of Harry, thumping his head on the pillow. He turns away. “Should I...?” he asks, vaguely motioning toward the door.

“No,” Harry says. “It’s Christmas.” Not that saying that really explains anything—but Harry doesn’t want to be alone, not now that they’ve just been so close.

He reaches out to squeeze Malfoy’s hand again, but Malfoy tenses, so Harry nearly lets go—

Except then Malfoy squeezes back.

“Will you go to sleep now?” Malfoy asks, sounding just as tired and annoyed as when he walked into the room—but there’s something else now, just the tiniest hint of fondness.

Harry feels an odd smile start to prick at his lips. “I can try,” he says, and when Malfoy curls into him this time he does.

xXx

Harry wakes to Malfoy’s half-naked body pressed along his back.

It’s awkward when Malfoy wakes up a moment later, looking over at him uncertainly, and both of them get dressed in what’s probably record speed.

Harry’s not sure what the etiquette for this is—it’s probably a bad idea to have slept with someone he’s going to be living with for the foreseeable future. But he leads Malfoy to the kitchenette and casts the spell to heat water for a cuppa, pouring them both a mug of tea.

Malfoy takes it begrudgingly as they sit at the table, complaining about how it tastes different when you spell the water warm. Then he continues prattling on about various things, like how cold the cabin is and how the wooden floors are splintery in places and on and on—

In another time, it might have annoyed Harry, if he hadn’t had those same exact thoughts many times over. It occurs to Harry then that he’s not angry Malfoy’s here anymore, not at all.

Merlin.

Malfoy’s in the middle of another tirade when Harry scoots close enough to knock their knees together.

“It’s like living in the _wilderness_ , you know? What are we even wizards for—ah,” Malfoy says, looking faintly surprised. His cheeks go pink.

“You were saying?” Harry asks, and if anything Malfoy’s face goes even pinker.

“Whatever,” Malfoy says, picking up his tea and sipping at it. “I’ll shut up now.”

But Malfoy reaches over and takes Harry’s hand then, making his heart pound—and if he looks closely, he can see that on Malfoy’s lips is the faintest trace of a smile.


End file.
